


Cold Turkey

by T_Philips



Series: A Collection of Things [7]
Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Cold Turkey, M/M, Trevor goes to therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-11-11
Packaged: 2018-08-30 07:31:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8524084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/T_Philips/pseuds/T_Philips
Summary: Trevor goes MIA for two weeks so he can get detoxed and leaves Michael in the dark about it.





	

Summer never seems to end in the desert. Days went on without any resistance, seemingly evaporating the night from existence, the sun casts ultra violet rays of light onto the barren land and anything that may inhabit it. Packs of scrappy coyotes scavenge the land as top predators, wiping out any stray cats that wonder too far from their shelters and chasing out the rare wild boar with their numbers. The sun bakes the sand to a molten hot temperature and leaves heat waves running along the surface like serpents. Out north lay the radioactive Alamo Sea, a product of a man made disaster, holding large amounts of carnivorous fish that are known to bite toes and feed on the smaller sea life. Past the sea is the large mountain range that is home for Mount Chiliad that stands over fifteen thousand meters above sea level. During the winter months it gathers sprinkles of snow that dusts the large cats that roam there, feasting on the jumping deer and lone hikers. 

Near the sea lay Trevor Philips country; a gathering of land known for its meth, hookers, bikers, and hillbillies. The place was infested with rodents, mites, bed bugs, beetles, cockroaches, and every other pest known to man; it's a place where people came to hide and disappeared by kidnapping. 

Michael wasn't planning a visit to the desert till later this month; ever since the big one was pulled off he set aside time to visit his oldest running buddy every month, due to the man's ability to go off radar in a minutes notice. Every few days he'd receive a smattering of words that were broken up by numbers and incorrectly spelt that resembled a threat that the other would find him if he decided to run off again. Two weeks passed before he noticed the texts were not rolling in like usual. Now, he drives his newly washed and waxed Tailgator down the winding highways that cut the Senora Desert into smaller bits of wasteland. His hands are wrapped tightly around the leather wheel, as he takes each turn with ease with dust kicking up behind him and leaving marks on the newly shined black paint of his sedan. Fuckin' Trevor. He presses his filed down nails into the fine leather on the top of the steering wheel, trying hard not to let the thought of other man cause too much turmoil in his head. Michael had tried his hardest to get back on his best friend's good side for the past nine months since Trevor had stumbled into his kitchen after their decade break; but nothing left the man satisfied. 

The screen of his phone lights up to show a new email from the new studio manager he'd recently been working with and he ignores it, continuing down the highway before slowing a bit to cruise down the road where Trevor's rust riddled trailer sat. Trevor's Bodhi sits flush with the chainlink fence in front and he pulls into the small spot on the side, throwing his shifter into park before resting his head on his arm on top of the steering wheel. It's been two weeks since he last heard from him; Trevor could be half way around the world by now, blowing up buildings on another continent or dead. "Jesus fuckin' Christ." Michael hisses under his breath, pulling the keys from the ignition and opening the door into the desert heat. 

Inside the trailer, Trevor flinches when he hears a car door slam just outside the fence surrounding his trailer and he freezes as he holds his breath to listen to the distant click clack of loafers making their way towards him. The wooden stairs leading to his doorway creak and crack under the weight of the person making their way up them, and the brown liquid in the cup of joe in his scarred and tattooed fist starts to quiver inside the red solo cup as his whole body gives a twitch from staying still for so long. The rickety front door creaks open and to Trevor's surprise Michael Townley's blue eyes peak around the metal door at him. 

Before the other could speak, Trevor launches himself at the door and practically rips it off its hinges to greet his running buddy with a wavering smile, "Miss me too much, Sugar?" He asks through his teeth, trying to make himself normal. "Couldn't get enough of ol' Trevy Poo, huh?" Trevor grits his teeth together and throws a hand up to lean against the door frame, only to flash his recent injection marks from the county hospital. 

"Yeah- I guess you could say that. You went radio silent for a couple weeks ya know, I got stressed." Michael replies, tracing his eyes over the irritated line of track marks on the inside of Trevor's forearm. 

"Well, nothing to be stressed 'bout, Mikey, nope nada zilch." Trevor says back, stumbling over his words as he pulls himself away from door frame and plops back down on the couch to look his feet. He can tell Michael is examining the place by the way he shuffles his feet. "Just needed some alone time is all." Trevor says, starting to softly run a finger over the marks from the hospitals machines they used to pump him full of detoxing chemicals. 

"Everything okay, T? Things seem... different." Michael says, watching as the meth addict runs a finger up his forearm, "Are you okay?" He asks, moving over slightly to lean against the strangely clean counter as he takes his time examining the trailer another time. The table that once held empty bottles and a fully loaded crate of beer was clean and spotless, above where Trevor sat the posters of women were gone and there were no newspapers on the floor by where he feet sit. He didn't have to look twice into the bedroom to see that it was spotless as well. The cleanliness reminds him of when Patricia was still around. 

"Why won't I be?" Trevor shoots back but scowls at his own reaction, seeing the nurses frowning face in his head from when he spit replies at her during the program. He lets out a huff and his back seems to curl inward during the exhale. His eyes sting with tears but he swallows and does a few more deep breaths, allowing himself to calm down again. "Im fine. Nothing's wrong, I just wanted to be alone." Anger boils in his stomach and he knows he has to control it before he lashed out, but Michael seems to be clueless of his internal battle. He grits his teeth again and does the breathing exercises he was taught while he's hands start to shake and nails begin to be more eager to dig into his skin.

"Why didn't you text? Or call? I was worried." 

"Yeah? Well everything doesn't fucking revolve around you, does it. You haven't been a priority since you died and took Brad with you." Trevor grumbles, scrapping his teeth together. 

"What the fuck crawled up your ass and died? Jesus, I just wanted to know where you were! I'm trying to be a good friend if you couldn't tell." Michael replies, pushing off the counter to stand above the man slouched over on the couch. "If you wanna talk shit about me, say it to my face." 

Trevor growls and hits his palm flat against the ripped cushion of the couch with a slap, anger ripping through the surface of his face and leaving a red rim around his vision. "Goddamnit!" He yells, palm itching from the hit before he digs his nails into the side of his thigh. Tilting his head up, he glares deep into the icy blue eyes that meet his yellowing ones, "You wanna know where I went? I went to the hospital." By the last words he's shaking again, taking in shaky breaths, "I went to rehab. Okay? I snapped, I- couldn't control myself, I- Ron he- he tried to stop it but he - Ron's dead, Michael. I- I did it! I couldn't bring myself to tell you, because I thought you wouldn't believe me, or leave again. Or both! It took weeks. I can't count how many times I woke up chained to my bed. As soon as they -" 

"Stop." 

"I-" 

"No. Stop. Don't say anything else." Michael says, watching tears run down the wet lines on Trevor's face. "I believe you, and I still think you should of called but I get why you didn't because I'm an asshole. But- .... Is it done?" 

"Is what done?"

"The program. Are you done?"

"I have one more session." Trevor says, snorting up snot and running the back of his arm under his nose. "One more transfer." He watches a blurry Michael tilt his head, but he doesn't say anything else, just shows the back of his forearm. "They hurt." He mumbles, leaning over to grab the abandoned coffee from the floor.

"I'm going with you."


End file.
